


to let your heart rule your head

by shepherd



Series: gladnis prince au [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Zine: Parallel Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Written for the Gladnis Zine: Parallel Love.Ignis recalled dashing through as a child. All the chaos frightened the birds away, Gladiolus thundered behind shrieking with laughter, the family dogs close at their heels.Years passed. Ignis grew, stubble on his cheeks and voice lowering and still the memories made him smile.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: gladnis prince au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797061
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	to let your heart rule your head

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I GOT CHOSEN TO WRITE A FIC FOR A ZINE.
> 
> Thank you so so much to beefy_noods on twitter for running this zine (during long work hours and a pandemic no less!) and for picking me! It means so much! Extra thanks to every other participant and everyone who purchased a copy - I really, really hope you enjoy!
> 
> Extra special thanks to NanakiCosmo on twitter who made amazing art for my piece - when it's put up on twitter I'll link it through. It's wonderful and I'm so grateful!
> 
> The leftovers of the zine and merch are available here: https://parallellovegladnis.bigcartel.com/

Tenebrae’s aroma was sweet; heavy yet reassuringly so and Ignis breathed it deep in the hopes it might quell his fears.

Petals littered the thick grass. With each step they swayed, an ocean not unlike the one he left behind. Instead of waves and shrieking gulls there was sweeter birdsong, mourning doves fluttering between the low hanging trees. Behind him Fenestala was silent – the morning was still young, and Ignis worried he might bring up his breakfast.

Beside him Gladiolus seemed equally as fraught. Something about his expression was terse. “Are you…”

It was like nothing Ignis had seen before. He offered him a smile, strained. “I’m fine,” he promised, and Gladiolus did not look convinced. “Ah – please don’t worry yourself. I simply didn’t sleep well.”

Sympathy softened the tension. “Too warm?”

It had been stifling. Tenebrean summers bore a thickness, a stifling weight coming perilously close to being too much. Ignis had forgotten. He shrugged off the silken pyjamas that clung to his skin, soaked through in less than an hour abed. Sweat slick, he suffered.

It was kinder to claim that the only reason for Ignis’ tension – not the year stretching between them, not how his father had sat with him only a week past, touching his shoulder and declaring that he and Gladiolus were to be husbands within the season.

The very thought of it ran Ignis’ mouth dry. Incredulity had come first, swiftly followed by anticipation and killed quickly by fear. Ignis’ rest had abandoned him, and the scent of Gladiolus’ jasmine cologne filled him with equal parts affection and dread.

That long year had been turbulent. A great many things had changed, and time had been kinder to Gladiolus that Ignis. Sylleblossoms were good for the soul Ignis knew, and Gladiolus flourished amongst the fields.

Thick chestnut hair had been wrangled into a long, soft braid which fell to his middle back. His beard was carefully trimmed and the scar bisecting his temple had healed well. A deep blue jewel was set into each ear. Gladiolus was beautiful and always had been – far more regal than Ignis could ever hope for himself. He cast shame upon even the gods and stood still beside Ignis, two men who carried the future of home on their shoulders.

That was all Ignis could be – a man, and men were messes of want, fear. Desire.

“Is there anything I might do to make you more comfortable?” Gladiolus offered. His whiskey eyes were earnest. Sweat crawled down the nape of Ignis’ neck.

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” he insisted, focusing on putting on foot before the other. It was strange to be alone together, and each step took them further from the safety of the Manor. “But it is kind to ask,” he added and paused, clarifying before the silence could set in, “I missed you at breakfast.”

Seemingly flattered Gladiolus laughed. The crow’s feet around his eyes vanished. “I begged my apologies to your father. Iris stole me away for a favour.”

“Ah. Is she well?”

“Very,” Gladiolus smiled.

As far as Ignis could recall, it was rare to witness Tenebrean royalty without an arm full of flowers. Today he bore only a plain wicker basket. “She gave me this, for you. Please don’t tell her I told you.”

“As kindly as always,” Ignis charmed, with a spare thought of the young princess who would soon be his sister. It was a strange thought, though not unwelcome.

Between them the mood was difficult. Gladiolus seemed of two minds – he had beamed upon seeing Ignis part from Aranea and touched their hands in greeting, murmuring  _ it’s been too long, Ignis.  _ But then Aranea had laughed and Gladiolus’ cheeks stained ruddy reds. He had been bashful since and Ignis rarely found the guts to speak.

They walked towards the line of trees, glass flattened underfoot only to spring up again, each flower reaching to the sun. Flowers seemed to stretch for eternity. A signature blue, Tenebrae’s signature beauty as far as Ignis’ eye could see. It was chafing to no longer hear the crash of waves and cries of fishermen. Instead of twinkling water upon the horizon, great trees bowed low enough for pale petals to catch in their hair. Bushels of flowers bore every shade of blue, allied with rogue whites and purples.

Ignis recalled dashing through as a child. All the chaos frightened the birds away, Gladiolus thundered behind shrieking with laughter, the family dogs close at their heels.

Years passed. Ignis grew, stubble on his cheeks and voice lowering and still the memories made him smile.

Gladiolus cast a curious look his way. Steadying his arm, he offered it. “Ignis?”

Ignis recoiled in surprise before he could recall his graces. Gladiolus’ expression dropped sharply and Ignis’ shame scalded, reaching out impulsively to bring their arms together. Worry that his prince might withdraw fuelled him. “Thank you,” he said breathlessly and cleared his throat, lest his voice shatter. “It’s wonderful to see you again, my lord.”

Gladiolus’ smile was no longer convincing. “I thought much the same.” There was merely an inch between them now. Jasmine filled Ignis’ air. “I know the news was sudden. It was… surprising, for the both of us.”

Standing close was killing Ignis slowly. Ignis grew flushed, mindless with want and exhilaration. He cursed all the layers his advisor had left on his bed. Noctis had been adamant –  _ if I have to wear this collar to my chin, so do you.  _ Sweat stuck and the flowers cloying, and jasmine drove him near enough to despair. All he could do was focus on Gladiolus’ low, lovely tones.

“I know the future is going to be strange. But I hope that we can remain close, as we’ve always been.” As always, Gladiolus was nothing but modest. “I will have everything to your liking. I will make you – I will make sure you are happy, even so far from home.”

Holding his gaze was tough. Ignis’ voice remained raw as he stared at his feet. “I know I could have done far worse in my engagement,” he said carefully. “I will miss my islands but Tenebrae had unrivalled beauty – I’m sure together we will make our homes proud.”

When Ignis chanced a look, Gladiolus had softened up. The hard-beating sun and stick of sweat was absolutely worth it. His earnest smile was perfection – fine lines etched upon a familiar, handsome face. No matter the harder line of his jaw when his cheeks were soft, hair softer and Ignis wondered if this was how they would look when wed, when Gladiolus kissed him to seal their vows.

“Thank you,” Gladiolus murmured, and his gratitude swelled Ignis’ heart.

It was no matter that nothing more would ever come of them. If Gladiolus had longer for more as Ignis had since his teen years, it would have long been his. Ignis would cherish their one kiss – all he could do was pray that his floundering between the line of childhood friend, duty bound husband and lovelorn fool would not be obvious to the eyes of all.

Soon they passed into the shadow of the trees. Ignis exhaled softly, ebbing nausea soothed by the shade.

Gladiolus noticed immediately. “Let us rest,” he said, and slowed to a halt. He gestured somewhat awkwardly to his basket. “I brought a meal.”

There was a clearing ahead, void of souls. Ignis wondered if Aranea and Noctis were bickering over the tallest window in the manor, gossiping as they watched the princes disappear into the thicket. The thought scalded his cheeks. He tugged his collar for relief, taking in deep breaths.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said politely. “Thank you.”

A tree had fallen some time past, flowers and ivy beginning to climb over the oak. Golden creeping jennies made their slow journey along, a bee skimming the surface of some bluebells. Gladiolus seemed wholly at peace, his robes bright gold and deep cerulean, at one with the colours of his country.

They paused among the centre. Ignis received a glimpse at the basket – a bright blanket obscured the contents within. Gladiolus removed it, setting the basket to one side. Draping it over the graciously dry grass Gladiolus waited patiently for Ignis to sit first and Ignis chose a corner, folding his legs beneath him. As Gladiolus burrowed inside the basket Ignis caught the scent of pastries – and for the first time Ignis’ stomach grumbled, hungry at last.

All his life he had been taught composure, wit, the ability to keep his cool in any situation. It was tedious, a childhood filled with etiquette lessons and stern matrons and Ignis had quickly developed a knack for smiling until he could escape. Above all else he had to keep up that smile for his kingdom, to make his parents proud.

Marrying an Amicitia was no hardship. But holding out on his yearning for decades would kill him as surely as any wasting disease.

Ignis’ heart could be a disaster for another time. They had not yet been reunited for a day. Ignis would enjoy the sights and gorgeous food with the company of a man he cherished and be at peace.

“Would you like…?”

“Please,” Ignis said and Gladiolus prepared a plate – porcelain, patterned with little flowers and jewels carefully painted. A pastry had burst with raspberries, blooming reds against gold. Tiny tubs of jam and marmalade followed.

Gladiolus had prepared for everything. Ignis laughed amongst the grass, watching Gladiolus produce plastic cups and a slim bottle of red. He joked, “All this for me?”

“Of course,” Gladiolus said with deep sincerity and popped the cork.

They sat in the quiet together minutes later, half eaten pastries flaking and wine shared. Gladiolus sat with his robes folded over his crossed legs. His pastry remained picked at despite Ignis’ insider knowledge that raspberries were Gladiolus’ favourites. For his last birthday Ignis had sent over a basket of them, packed alongside flavoured teas and chocolates. He had received a kind though brief letter in return alongside a mountain of ulwaat berries. They were famously sweet, but Ignis thought he knew a man sweeter.

Ignis took another careful bite. Still warm pastries fell apart at the slightest touch.

“These are delicious,” he said. “Thank you.”

Gladiolus ducked his head. “Iris helped me.”

The thought warmed his heart. “A budding baker, then?”

“For you,” Gladiolus replied with a strange lilt, and carefully took a bite of his own treat.

Ignis busied himself sipping at his wine. It tasted like the midst of summer, full bodied and flourishing. Gladiolus watched him a moment only to look away just as suddenly. He took his own mouthful and they remained in silence, awkwardness creeping back in.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally and Ignis looked up.

Gladiolus’ expression was tight. His brows were knit and face sour, like a sour taste lingered on his tongue. “Whatever for,” Ignis asked.

“This hasn’t progressed the way I had hoped,” he admitted, and his lips curved, wry and sad. When his shoulders shrugged his plait fell across his chest. “It has been much too long since our last meeting.”

The last seasons had been long. The years before then had passed even quicker, the excitable flurry of their youth taking over. Duty had stretched far between them and yet tied them close.

“I apologise,” Ignis said in the way his father had taught. Humility and grace always, but never weakness. “If I may say so, I missed you greatly. And thought of you often.”

As if embarrassed Gladiolus ducked his head. “Thank you,” he said kindly. “That is a most reassuring thought.”

Ignis took another bite. No baker worldwide could create in a lifetime what a Tenebrean royal could every morning. It was a wonderful distraction.

Gladiolus’ eyes lingered. Something gave him pause. “I had hoped that I would see you before your birthday. I had… worried about potential guests.

“How so, my lord?”

“As you are now of age, I feared some may attempt to initiate courting before I had the chance,” Gladiolus said, sweeping his tongue across dry lips and Ignis almost choked.

“Courting,” he said weakly, utterly disbelieving and struggling to clear the crumbs. “Me?”

The prince leaned forward. His hands bunched in his robes. “Who else could I ever want,” he asked softly.

Ignis floundered. It was true that there were precious few of royal blood within their age range, but Gladiolus could have any soul he wished. It seemed impossible that his eyes had remained faithfully upon Ignis all this time.

Unable to speak, Ignis let the silence drag. The space he left behind was claimed by his husband to be, overwhelmed by his earnest proclamations. Gladiolus dared to shuffle closer, plate abandoned. In gentle winds the wild grass swayed.

“I want you,” Gladiolus said, voice rough. His low tones made Ignis quake. “I want to cherish only you, if you’ll have me.”

“I would,” Ignis blurted and could barely feel the creeping embarrassment of eagerness, shamelessness. That burn was nothing against the grace of Gladiolus’ renewed smile, brilliantly blinding. Slowly his uncertainty passed, the tension melting away.

Somehow, Gladiolus was even more beautiful in happiness. Within the sunshine, in Ignis’ arms, he would be flawless. Ignis longed to kiss him, impulse maddening – his eyes fell upon Gladiolus’ lips, a gift that would one day be his. Courting be damned, propriety be damned.

But Gladiolus fumbled, digging within their almost forgotten basket, casting the cover aside. “I know this is sudden - however, I have something for you,” he said in a grand rush and pulled a crown from the depths.

The world ceased.

Ignis’ father’s crown was a breath-taking sight. It was sleek and smooth, forged of Accordo steel and adorned with sea glass from the foot of their coasts. King Leonis wore it with pride and humility. One day, so would Ignis.

This crown was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was woven with sylleblossoms alone, a symphony of blues that made Ignis’ breath catch. It was not the crown Gladiolus’ mother wore. But it was elegant, awe inspiring. Fitting for Gladiolus, bright colours amongst his dark hair and was not dissimilar to the one he wore on special occasions.

It couldn’t possibly be for him. And yet Gladiolus posed it before him, delicately held. He wore a careful, anxious smile.

“For you,” he said and Ignis’ belly hollowed out.

He didn’t reach for it. He didn’t dare. “My – my lord, I couldn’t possibly -”

“It’s a tradition,” Gladiolus explained smoothly. “For our intended my family waves and present these crowns. I would be… gratified, if you would accept.”

The thought of wearing something that Gladiolus had made anticipating him was too much **.** Considering wearing it before a crowd made him dizzy, but he would stand as the pride of his father and against the gentle teasing of his companions all to see Gladiolus’ smile.

It was shocking to think that they had come this far. Most were not so lucky in their betrothals. Some married dishonesty, others cruelty. The Astrals had been loving to tie their hands, to bless Tenebrae with flowers and beauty. Gladiolus was the one who grew tallest, most charming, bearing the strongest roots. Still he had so much longer left to grow.

And Ignis was blessed to watch by his side, as his husband.

“I would be delighted,” Ignis spoke softly, a swell of warmth within. Amongst the nature and in Gladiolus’ company he could think of little else – the sweet scent reassuring, the pressure relieved.

Gladiolus laughed and the world fled. A bee darted past and birds fluttered in the trees above. Ignis saw and heard none of it.

“Please,” Gladiolus said. He lifted the crown high and the sunshine dappled the petals. “Bow your head for me. Tradition… I will crown you.”

Ignis bowed without question. He couldn’t help but hold his breath and closed his eyes, waiting with building anticipation. Fisting the fabric of his trousers he exhaled lowly and the crown settled atop his head, carefully, and Gladiolus’ exhale matched his.

It felt right. It felt good, better than Ignis could ever have dreamt. “Thank you,” Gladiolus said softly and Ignis chanced a look upwards, finding Gladiolus’ eyes exhilarated, eyes gleaming. “Thank you, my love.”

Ignis wished he could see himself. But Gladiolus’ delight and admiration was pleasure enough. Trembling fingers reached up and brushed across the flowers, silken to the touch. “They’re beautiful, Gladio,” he murmured, voice raw.

A true smile bloomed upon his face. It was wonky and earnest and Ignis fell in love with it. “I’ve had plenty of time to practise,” he admitted, without an ounce of shame.

“I’d like to learn how to make them,” Ignis said and knew his flush was as clear as day. “I want to crown you – if I may.”

“It’s not often taught outside of the Amicitia line,” Gladiolus said, a touch bashful, “but I would cherish the chance.” He shifted, uncrossing and crossing his legs repeatedly as if too excited to sit still, like a child thrilled. “My mother will be pleased. Throughout everything she has had her heart set on you – and I think the vision of you wearing my crown will delight her.” He breathed out, a little easier than before. “Thank you. For accepting me, despite my rush. I only wish I could take my time with you.”

“You can take your time with me while you teach me,” Ignis remained him, a beat of playfulness overtaking him. “Perhaps, by the time we’re wed, I may even craft a halfway decent crown.”

Gladiolus laughed, the creases reappearing at the corner of his eyes, and he was easily the most beautiful sight of all. “Perhaps,” he agreed, love and pleasure in his eyes, and Ignis’ heart was full to bursting.


End file.
